Hostage
by SunShark
Summary: Harry never took the Knight Bus. He still manages to find trouble. Takes place before 3rd year of Hogwarts and during the Great Game.
1. Chapter 1

After a long haitus, I'm finally writing again. Style may have changed a bit, pretty much uneditted. We'll see how this goes.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Prompt: HP x SH where they're either related or Harry's found during third year.

* * *

In hind sight, he should have taken a bus.

Instead, Harry manages to beg a ride to London from a stranger, gets dropped off in an alley near an orphanage, and is promptly roped into a hostage situation. One where he accidentally catches sight of an armed man forcing a kid into a blinking, bulky vest.

"Hey! What are you –" is all he manages to get out before another man covers his mouth from behind. Harry immediately tries to reach his wand, but his arms are forced behind his back. A large hand dives into his pockets and throws the stick away. Harry kicks his assailant and receives a backhand across the face. His glasses fly onto the sidewalk and are crushed underfoot.

Harry opens his mouth to scream, and feels the cold press of metal against his neck. "Not a word," the man said. Harry clicks his mouth shut.

He is then dragged into the building.

His assailant regards him dispassionately. "Shouldn't have gotten involved, kid," he said, tossing him next to a hiccupping eight-year-old with snot smeared across his face. The vest, Harry saw, wasn't on him yet.

It was in the hands of the man in front of them. "Look, kid," he said, addressing the eight-year-old, "This thing here is a bomb. If you flail like that, it will blow up on you, and we don't want that now, do we?" The kid only cries harder, and shrinks back when the man approached.

Harry does the reckless thing; he steps in front of the kid.

The man snorts at him. "What, you want to take his place kid?" he said.

"Yes," Harry said before he can think about it. The man pauses, then shrugs. "Suit yourself," he said, and roughly straps the vest onto his body. A mic is hooked onto his face, and a pager stuck in his hand. "Do whatever the pager tells you to do, and you might not die," the man growls.

"I'll just get rid of this one then," said the second man from behind him, and the kid begins screaming in earnest.

"Stop it!" Harry shouts reflexively, and gets slapped for his troubles. The screaming quiets down though, so he continues. "The kid stays or, or, I'll blow us all up!" With that he grips the wires on the vest, and the man curses.

The other, fortunately, steps away from the kid. The men regard him warily now, and Harry's hands are sweaty, but he stands his ground. The wires are a bit slick, and he's terrified he might accidentally yank on them by accident. It takes all he has not to tremble.

He doesn't want to die. But he's not thinking about it.

Finally, one of the men snorts. "Kid's got guts, I'll give him that." With that, he urges his partner out the door despite the other's protests. Harry hears "How the hell did you forget the tranquilizer –" "It was your turn to restock! –" before the door clicks shut and locks.

Harry collapses. There's a single window in the surprisingly small room, more of a closet, and when he squints he can see rooftops dotted with moonlight. The kid continues to sob quietly, but when Harry moves in his direction he scoots to the far side of the room.

Right, he's wearing a bomb.

Harry half-wishes his magic will kick in and whisk him away, but his accidental magic hadn't worked up ever since he got his wand, and a few minutes later a red dot appears on his vest. He knows from Dudley's games that it's for aiming guns.

The pager conveniently shows the time. It's 2am, he's blown up his aunt, run away from home, got kidnapped, and lost both his wand and his glasses. Even if he's found, he'll be arrested and expelled. If he isn't found, he'll die.

Harry settles down, and waits.

* * *

"Ten"

"Nine"

"Eight"

"Seven"

"Six"

"Five"

"Four"

"Three"

"Two"

"The Van Buren Supernova!"

* * *

After the SWAT team removed the vest, Harry is ushered directly to the hospital despite his protests. He's wrapped in a blanket, and someone had stuck a lollipop in his hand. The kid was in a different car, and had emitted another level of wailing when the police showed up. He didn't even know his name.

He's feeling – numb. Or something. The police say he's in shock.

He sits there for hours, as nurses check over his body and mutter 'malnutrition' and 'underdeveloped bone structure' under their breathes, and the police collect his statement and then try to get his identity. He refuses to give his last name; no way are the Durley's picking him up from here.

He's partway through a pudding cup and debating how to escape the hospital to collect his belongings when he hears a commotion in the hallway, and two beds are rushed by. Both of the people on them are singed; one has curly hair, the other is blond.

* * *

And that's it for now! Reviews please!


	2. Chapter 2

I did not expect this story to get that much interest. Wow. So several months later and right before my paper is due, I finally get the inspiration and motivation to write chapter two. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Funny thing is, Harry wakes up to a blurry man in a suit. With a cane – no wait, that's an umbrella. He rubs his eyes with one hand and pats around for his glasses with the other. His glasses aren't there, and as he glances around the bed he remembers that someone stepped on them. When he looks up again, the man is gone.

Wrong room, perhaps?

Harry shrugs, then discreetly checks around for nurses. It was time to find an exit; no need for them to call the Dursley's after all.

* * *

The escape did not go as planned.

The police had more questions for him.

Questions he was avoiding by hiding in the cold storage room on the basement floor.

It was a bit cold, but nothing bad. The niche under the table was comfortable to sit in, at least. And the woman who came to work in the room looked rather simple – Harry was sure that, if he needed to, he could plead being lost and confused and probably get away with it. Many adults her age didn't look too closely into things.

She was pulling something out of the cabinet in the wall now, and the drawer slid out long enough to reveal a long black sack. Humming, she slid open the zipper on the sack to reveal –

Great Merlin, was that a _head_!? Just where was he?

The zipper slid open further, and there were a pair of feet at the end, with what looked like a white tag hanging off the toes.

"Well hello there, Henry!" The woman said cheerfully.

Harry jumped with a clang.

So did the woman. "Who's there," she called. She definitely wasn't smiling now. Harry debated the merits of staying where he was versus coming out, and stepped out of his hiding place. Hopefully the woman was nice, but the exit was still unblocked.

He pasted what he hoped was a sheepish expression on his face. "Sorry ma'am, got a bit turned around on the way to the restrooms, you see…" He noticed that he could see the body in the sack behind the woman, and quickly glanced higher up.

The woman noticed though. "I though the restrooms were right across from the visitors area," she said aloud. Oops, Harry thought. However, then her expression changed. "Were you interested in the bodies? That's something teenage boys like, isn't it? Though not really because not many people actually want to see them because dead bodies tend to gross other people out, but they are rather fascinating, aren't they? And they're great company too." She gazed fondly at the body on the table, then seemed to notice herself and blush. "Oh my, I never introduced myself. I'm Molly from the morgue – I mean, Molly Hooper."

"I'm Harry –" Harry offers, before checking himself, "Just Harry."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry," she said. What followed was several seconds of silence where no one moved.

"…Well," Molly spoke up, "Can I help you…?"

Harry hesitated. On one hand, he was leaving…

"Why did you call him Henry?"

Molly blinked. "Because that's his name."

"The –" Harry gestured to the body while making as little eye contact as possible.

Molly looked back toward the body. "Yes, Henry Porter, age fifteen. Died yesterday, the police just finished identifying the body. He was on the missing person's list from last year, a runaway I think. I knew his grandmother. Well, knew in a relative sense, when she came through here a few months back –"

Harry crept closer as she went on, and noticed one of her hands was gripping a small scalpel. He promptly moved to her other side, and finally got a good look at the body. From this angle, he could see that the body was entirely naked, somewhat emaciated, and not nearly as whole as it looked from a distance.

"Why is he – what happened to him?" He asked, gesturing to the scattered blackening markings all over the arms and torso.

Molly became more animated the more she talked. "The scratches are mainly from debris. If you look over here – " she hefted the upper body up, carefully cradling the head so that Harry could see the great bruise stretching from the head down the back of the neck, "- he was actually killed by blunt impact against his neck, snapping it and killing him instantly. The rest is all cosmetic –" she put the body back down, jarring it slightly, but enough that the eyelids parted to reveal slivers of green. Harry shivered, and tore his gaze away.

"- You can also see that Henry had a difficult time on the streets, malnutrition and poor bone development. Apparently he'd been living outside the Bently Nursing Home - that's where the police found him – and got caught in an explosion that took out the whole building. It was one of the string of bomb threats across London these past few days, they say that people were actually strapped to bombs. Which is frightening, but Sherlock was on the case I think. I never told you about Sherlock, have I – Harry?"

Harry was nowhere to be found. In the corner of the room, the exit door slid shut.

* * *

I have no idea how a morgue actually works or how cause of death is determined, but Molly should be able to do that much. She's a professional (and a bit of a gossip, though corpses are terrible conversationalists).

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

So I finally got inspiration to finish this chapter this month! Kind of skimped a bit description wise, but it worked out. And a few notes to my lovely reviewers!

Sea and Chaos: Thanks for the update about eyes, I actually went to look it up later and it was really interesting! I don't like going back and changing things I've already posted though, so I'll keep it in mind for future bodies :D

And thank you everyone else who reviewed! Even if I don't reply, know that your thoughts are very much appreciated!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Inspector Dimmock, sir, we're finished running the perimeter around the orphanage."

"Anything useful?"

"There was a trunk belonging to a Mr. H. J. Potter found in the alley. We checked it for explosives and it came clean –"

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"- but it contained an odd assortment of…occult related items."

"So some occult nut left his baggage here. Not our division."

"But sir, some of the books in there are just…just…"

"Look, if you're so concerned, you can bring it to the lost and found. Otherwise, focus on the bomber."

"…yes sir."

* * *

Where the heck was his stuff?

Harry weaved his way around the pedestrians. He was pretty sure this was where he was held yesterday. He even saw the same snot-nosed kid through the window of the building.

But his trunk was missing. As was his wand. And glasses.

'Don't tell me it rolled into the sewer," he thought. Though considering his luck, it would.

He ducked down to peer through the drain. Damn, he couldn't see anything. Why did things like this happen to him? Why him? It was supposed to be the magical world where this sort of bullocks happened. The Muggle world was supposed to only have the regular kind of crap.

Well, it was still daylight at least. He had a few more hours to turn up with something.

* * *

There was nothing.

Well, there was a bit of crushed glass on the sidewalk, but that could have been from anything. Harry also had several new bruises from busy Londoners colliding with him during his search.

It was nighttime, his stomach was growling, and he didn't even have enough on him for a cup of water at the Leaky Cauldron, never mind a room. And he didn't have his wand to make it over to the bank, and he didn't have his key either, and if he tried using his status as 'Harry Potter' the aurors would be there in an instant and snap his wand and then he'd really be expelled.

The police would be after him too, wouldn't they, since he ran away from questioning? Oh, and the hospital as well, come to think if it. Harry groaned. What in the world was he supposed to do for the night?

As if in answer, something in his jacket shifted.

Harry reached inside and pulled out – his invisibility cloak? When did it get there?

* * *

Beneath a space under a window was not his first choice, but his first choice got taken by a hobo with a mean right hook, and his second by a group of drunken teenagers. This one at least had a warm vent, and while his cloak wasn't exactly warm it did prevent people from seeing him.

Which was especially useful, as the person who lived behind that glass was very likely a murderer.

 _How did he get into these situations?!_

"You don't steal from Moriarty, you little shit head."

There was the solid sound of flesh impacting flesh, and something thudded against the wall. The man paced, presumably around the – theif? – drawing muffled moans all the while. Harry didn't dare to try a peek. He was frozen stiff.

"You try us once, we cut off a pinkie. You try us twice…"

Something metal sounded, as well as frantic scratching.

"…we were even generous, we helped relieve you of one of your five brats. You try a third time…"

There was a choked scream with the sound of liquid, another gurgle, and then silence. The soft rhythm of cloth on metal. Several tissues being drawn.

Suddenly, loud music. Harry flinched.

"…Yeah, boss?" The guy answered his phone. If he paced any closer to the window Harry was convinced he'd be stepped on.

Something garbled from the other end. " Yeah, I made it messy. No, I'm not going to mess up. Who do you think I am, those two amateurs you hired for that orphanage?"

Louder garbling now, almost annoyed. "Yeah, I took care of them, straight up brake failure. You only told me to make it look like an accident, don't complain now! Ye – no boss, no complaints here – Come on, it was friendly ribbing, don't be like that now! Oh – fine. Yeah. Yeah. Don't worry, I'll turn the rest of the Windslow brats into a statement."

Calmer garbling now. "Yeah, I'll make it quick too. Anything else boss? If you're that bored you – fine, go play with the grunts. But at least take the wheel chair – it's your own damn fault for standing next to a bomb, what did you think they would do? Talk? Ye – no boss, no back talk, got it. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah." Beep.

Footsteps paced further away from the window, and Harry let out a breath. Maybe it was time to find a fourth place, it clearly wasn't as safe as he thought over here.

He braced his stiff legs against the ground, ready to get up. There was a soft swish, like one of the larger owls he'd seen before, and he looked up to find –

\- A Giant. Not a Hagrid giant, but one who's muscles were clearly visible on his…well, everywhere. The giant's hair was blond and slicked back like Malfoy's, but his face was too square to look cultured. Maybe he could have passed off as roguish… if his expression wasn't filled with killing intent directed straight at Harry's location.

His left hand had dark speckles. His right hand held a gun. And he was too close; Harry couldn't run past him if he tried. Well, maybe if he crawled. But he didn't want his back to this person at any point in time. He could barely breath.

The giant squats down and extends a hand slowly, towards his face, and Harry pressed against the wall as far as he could. Five inches…three inches…a mere half inch before the cloth folds, and the hand swipes –

Up.

And smacks the bottom on the window sill. And then slides around the bottom, looking for something. The giant doesn't seem to find it though, and Harry tries very hard not to breath because the giant is _literally right in front of his nose_.

"Huh," he mutters, "no bugs." The giant glances around. "Did I get it wrong then?" He lingers, constantly looking around for…something…and Harry really needs to breath now but he doesn't dare. But he really needs to breath. He begins to pray.

 _Please let him leave, please let him leave, I need air, please let him leave…_

His vision starts to waver a bit, and he closes his eyes.

 _Please let him leave. Let him leave. Air. Let him leave. Leave. Leave._

 _LEAVE._

Miraculously, something loud clatters a ways away, and the giant goes to investigate.

The minute his footsteps fade, Harry breathes. And _books it_.

* * *

And yeah, I finally have some idea of where the plot is going. Things will look up in the next chapter :)

Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

It's been a while, but I finally have direction of plot! Hopefully next chapters will get longer. And thank you everyone who's favorited, followed or commented on this fic, it's wonderful motivation for writers (and a nice ego boost).

Disclaimer: J. is amazing

* * *

In the end, Harry randomly picks a doorstep to sleep on. Violence was less likely to occur right in the street, and he had his invisibility cloak anyway.

The door was even warm. Slightly.

He just needed a nap.

He'd get up.

In a bit.

* * *

The next morning Sally Donovan tripped over an invisible child.

Scratch that, _half_ -invisible child at this point – no, more importantly, _child_. Why was there a child on her doorstep?

The kid was still relatively clean, though on the skinny side. Either lost or a recent runaway then. She's not even going to start on the invisibility thing – it made her head hurt.

It was impossible. She should go, she had work. She was never the maternal type anyway. Someone else should deal with this.

But – shoot, she tripped over him. Was he hurt? Scared? Abused? She was in the homicide division for Pete's sake, not social services. It was too early for this.

Still…the least she could do is bring him to the station where he could get help.

Sally slipped one arm under his neck and the other behind his legs. After a moment, she grabbed the invisibility thing as well and resigned herself to Sherlock's involvement; there was no way he wouldn't catch wind of this.

With that, she headed off to work. The kid didn't even stir. She'd feel so much better about all this if the kid wasn't so damn _light_.

* * *

"Morning Donova – that. That's the kid! From the bomber case!"

"What, him?"

Sally glances at the boy she was about to drop off at Child Services, then did a double take. Distinctive scar over right brow, 12-14 years of age. Taken to the hospital to be treated for trauma, disappeared before they could get his identification. No matches to any reported missing children.

Shit, how did she miss this?

"I stumbled over him on my doorstep, Lestrade. Looks like the streets didn't agree with him."

Lestrade gave a grim smile. "It rarely does," he noted. "Set him down on the chairs over there, we can question him when he wakes up."

Sally quirked a brow. "Didn't seem like he wanted to answer the first time. Which reminds me," she pauses as she deposits a shimmery cloth on his desk, "I think we're dealing with something much bigger here."

"Bigger than a criminal mastermind who goes on a bombing spree to get attention?"

"Unless that psychopath also had access to some sort of high grade stealth technologies, then yes. Take a look at this." Sally pinches a corner of the fabric between her thumb and forefinger and drapes it across her other hand. It disappears.

There's no bloody stump of harm, no cry of pain. Lestrade pokes at the space where her hand rested and encounters resistance. Sally then removes the cloth from her hand, and it reappears.

"Blimey…where did you find this?"

"I found it on the child, sir. He was using it as a blanket at the time, though since his entire body was covered I believe he knows about the properties of the technology."

"You think there's a reason he was involved in the bombing plot? All the other victims were more or less picked off the street."

"But you heard the other kid's testimony, he was switched in. He volunteered to be switched in. Kids his age don't normally do that, not many adults in his position would do that either."

"So why was he there then?" They both turn towards the boy. The air conditioner is always either too strong or not working in the office, and currently the room temperature was a bit chilly. Other than the furrow in his brow though, the boy appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

Lestrade blinked as a thought occurred, and glanced at her. "You know there's no way Holmes isn't going to want in on this," he stated.

Sally scowled. "Let's try to gather as much as we can first. God forbid we inflict him on the kid more than we have to."

There was nothing to be done until the kid woke up, though without the cloth he probably wouldn't run away as easily. Poor thing, to be caught in this mess. Hopefully he'd cooperate this time.

Well, time to get back to work.

Sally turned to head for her desk, when Lestrade called out, "One more thing, Donavan."

She paused. "What is it?"

Lestrade was grinning though. "'High grade stealth technologies'? Couldn't you just call it 'invisibility cloth' or something? What are we now, M16?"

Sally scowled. "Don't laugh! I know you've watched every Bond movie that's come out so far too!"

He was openly chuckling now, so Sally threw up her hands and stalked away.

She couldn't stop the corner of her mouth from twitching upwards.

* * *

Lestrade wasn't lying when he said Holmes would get involved. He just wasn't sure which one would reach him first.

When his phone rang with an unspecified number, he admitted it was a stupid question.

He picked it up on the third ring.

"What do you want." He said.

"No greeting now? My, you're becoming crass, Detective Inspector."

* * *

Reviews are welcome!


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